[Illustration: IN THE CROWD]
[Illustration: P. A. AND P. I.]
JOSIAH ALLEN’S WIFE
AS A
P. A. AND P. I.
SAMANTHA AT THE CENTENNIAL.
DESIGNED AS
A BRIGHT AND SHINING LIGHT,
TO PIERCE THE FOGS OF ERROR AND INJUSTICE THAT SURROUND
SOCIETY AND JOSIAH,
AND TO BRING MORE CLEARLY TO VIEW THE PATH THAT LEADS STRAIGHT ON TO
VIRTUE AND HAPPINESS.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
“MY OPINIONS AND BETSEY BOBBET’S.”
“_What are you going to write now, Samantha?_”
HARTFORD, CONN.:
AMERICAN PUBLISHING COMPANY
1883.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by the
AMERICAN PUBLISHING COMPANY,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
To
MY JOSIAH’S CHILDREN BY HIS FIRST WIFE:
THOMAS JEFFERSON
AND
TIRZAH ANN,
_THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED_
BY ONE, WHO,
ALTHOUGH A STEP-MOTHER, IS STILL AS AFFECTIONATE AND FRIENDLY TO ’EM AS
CAN BE.
* * * * *
The above is the dedication I had lotted on; had wrote all out and
calculated to have; pleasing, very, to Josiah, to the children, and to
myself. But come to think it over, I changed my mind. I thought:
_they_ have friends, and eloquent tongues of their own, and happiness;
are well off, and haint sufferin’ for dedications, or any of the other
comforts and necessaries of life. And so, the above is hereby null and
void; and this is what I now solemnly declare to be my last lawful
will and dedication of this book:—
To
THOSE WHO HAVE NO ONE TO SPEAK FOR THEM;
TO
THOSE WHO ARE IN BONDS
(ANY KIND OF BONDS,)
TO
Those whose Hearts Ache, through Injustice and Oppression;
TO
THOSE WHOSE SAD EYES LOOK THROUGH TEARS FOR THE DAWNING OF A BRIGHTER,
CLEARER DAY,
_THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED, AND ALSO INSCRIBED_,
BY THEIR SINCERE FRIEND AND WELL-WISHER,
JOSIAH ALLEN’S WIFE.
MY REASONS TO THE KIND AND ALMOST GENTLE READER
WHY
I DON’T HAVE NO PREFACE TO THIS BOOK.
My companion, Josiah, knew that my book was all finished and completed,
and so one lovely day about half past four, P. M. in the afternoon, when
he see me walk with a firm and even step up to the mantletry piece and
take down my bottle of ink and my steel mounted pen, he says to me:
“What are you goin’ to writin’ on _now_, Samantha?”
Says I mildly, “I thought I’d lay to and write a preface to my book,
Josiah. I thought I’d tell ’em that I had wrote it all down about you
and I goin’ on a tower to Filadelfy village to see the Sentinel.”
“I guess after you have wrote it all out in black ink in a book, about
our goin’ to the Sentimental, folks that read it will find out we have
been there, without your writin’ a preface to _tell_ ’em of it. They
will unless they are dumb fools.”
He snapped out _awful_ snappish. I couldn’t think what ailed him, and
says I firmly:
“Stop swearin’ instantly and to _once_, Josiah Allen!” And I added again
in mild axents: “I guess I’ll lay to and write my preface, Josiah; you
know there has got to be one.”
“_Why_ has there got to be one?”
Oh! how fractious and sharp that “why” was. I never see a sharper, more
worrysome “why” in my hull life than that “why” was. But I kep’ cool,
and says I in calm tones:
“Because there _has_; Folks _always_ have prefaces, Josiah.”
“What _makes_ ’em have ’em? there’s the dumb of it. What _makes_ ’em?”
Says I mekanically,—for a stiddy follerin’ of duty has made reprovin’ my
pardner in times of need, a second or third nature to me—“stop swearin’
to _once_, Josiah Allen! They have prefaces, Josiah, because”—again I
paused half a moment in deep thought—“they have ’em, because they _do_
have ’em, that’s why.”
But even this plain and almost lucid statement didn’t seem to satisfy
him, and he kep’ a arguin’ and sayin’,—“I’d be hanged if _I’d_ have
’em,” and so on and so 4th. And I argued back again. Says I:
“You know folks are urged to publish books time and again, that wouldn’t
have had no idee of doin’ it if they had been let alone.” Says I,—“You
know after they git their books all finished, they hang back and hate to
have ’em published; hate to, like dogs; and are urged out of their way
by relatives and friends, and have to give up, and have ’em published.
They naturally want to tell the Public how it is, and that these things
are so.”
“Oh wall,” says he, “if the Public is any like me, he’d ruther hear the
urgin’ himself than to hear the author tell on it. What did they break
their backs for a writin’ fourteen or fifteen hundred pages if they laid
out to hang back in the end. If they found their books all wrote out, a
growin’ on huckleberry bushes, or cewcumber vines, there would be some
sense in talkin’ about urgin’ ’em out of their way.”
And he sot his head on one side, and looked up at the ceilin’ with a
dretful shrewd look onto his face, and went to kinder whistlin’. I can’t
bear hintin’, and never could, I always despised hinters. And I says in
almost cold tones, says I:
“Don’t you believe they was urged, Josiah Allen?”
“I haint said they wuzn’t, or they _wuz_. I said I had ruther see the
hangin’ back, and hear the urgin’ than to hear of it by-the-by, in
prefaces and things. _That’s_ what I said.”
But again that awful shrewd look come onto his face, and again he sot
his head on one side and kinder went to whistlin’; no particular tune,
but jest a plain sort of a promiscous whistle. But I kep’ considerable
cool, and says I:
“Folks may be real dissatisfied with what they have wrote, and want to
sort o’ apoligise, and run it down kinder.”
Says Josiah,—“If folks don’t write the best they know how to, it is a
insult to the Public, and ort to be took by him as one.”
“That is so, Josiah,” says I. “I always thought so. But writers may try
to do the very best they can; their minds may be well stabled, and their
principles foundered on a rock; their motives as sound as brass, and
soarin’ and high-toned as anything can be, and still at the same time,
they may have a realizin’ sense that in spite of all their pains, there
is faults in the book; lots of faults. And they may” says I, “feel it to
be their duty to tell the Public of these faults. They may think it is
wrong to conceal ’em, and the right way is to come out nobly and tell
the Public of ’em.”
“Oh! wall!” says Josiah, “if _that_ is what you are goin’ to write a
preface for, you may set your heart at rest about it. Anybody that reads
_your_ book will find out the faults in it for themselves, without your
tellin’ ’em of ’em in a preface, or sayin’ a word to help ’em on in the
search. Don’t you go to worryin’ about that, Samantha; folks will see
the faults jest as easy; wont have to put on no specks nor nothin’ to
find ’em; such things can’t be hid.”
My companion meant to chirk me up and comfort me. His will was good, but
somehow, I s’pose I didn’t look so chirked up and happy as he thought I
ort to, and so to prove his words, and encourage me still more, he went
on and told a story:
“Don’t you remember the boy that was most a fool, and when he sot out
for his first party, his father charged him not to say a word, or they
would find him out. He sot perfectly speechless for more’n an hour;
wouldn’t answer back a word they said to him, till they begun to call
him a fool right to his face. And then he opened his mouth for the first
time, and hollered to his father,—‘Father! father! they’ve found me
out.’”
Josiah is a great case to tell stories. He takes all the most high-toned
and popular almanacs of the day, and reads ’em clear through. He says he
“will read ’em, every one of ’em, from beginnin’ to Finy.” He is fond of
tellin’ me anecdotes. And is also fond of tragedies—he reads the _World_
stiddy. And I always make a practice of smilin’ or groanin’ at ’em as
the case may be. (I sot out in married life with a firm determination to
do my duty by this man.) But now, though I smiled a very little, there
was sunthin’ in the story, or the thoughts and forebodin’s the story
waked up in me, that made my heart sink from—I should judge from a
careless estimate—an inch, to an inch and three-quarters. I didn’t make
my feelin’s known, however; puttin’ my best foot forred has been my
practice for years, and my theme. And my pardner went on in a real chirk
tone:
“You see Samantha, jest how it is. You see there haint no kind o’ need
of your writin’ any preface.”
I was almost lost in sad and mournful thought, but I answered dreamily
that “I guessed I’d write one, as I had seemed to sort o’ lay out and
calculate to.”
Then my companion come out plain, and told me his mind, which if he had
done in the first place, would have saved breath and argument. Says he:
“I _hate_ prefaces. I hate ’em with almost a perfect hatred.” And says
he with a still more gloomy and morbid look,—“I have been hurt too much
by prefaces to take to ’em, and foller ’em up.”
“Hurt by ’em?” says I.
“Yes,” says he firmly. “That other preface of your’n hurt me as much as
7 cents in the eyes of the community. It was probable more’n that damage
to me. I wouldn’t”—says he, with as bitter a look onto him as I ever
see,—“have had it got out that I had the Night Mair, for a silver 3 cent
piece.”
“Why,” says I mildly, “it wasn’t nothin’ ag’inst your _character_,
Josiah.”
“Oh no!” says he in a sarcastic tone. “You would want it talked over in
prefaces and round, wouldn’t you, that you had the Night Mair, and
pranced round in your sleep?”
“I never mentioned the word prance,” says I mildly, but firmly,
“_never_.”
“Oh wall,” says he, “it is all the same thing.”
“No it haint,” says I firmly. “No it haint.”
“Wall,” says he, “you know jest how stories grow by tellin’. And by the
time it got to New York,—I dare persume to say before it got to that
village,—the story run that I pranced round, and was wild as a henhawk.
I have hated prefaces ever sense, and druther give _half a cent_ than to
have you write another one.”
“Don’t go beyond your means a tryin’ to bribe me,” says I, in a almost
dry tone. Josiah is honest as a pulpit, but close, nearly tight. After a
moment’s thought, I says,—“If you feel like that about it, Josiah, I
wont have no preface in this book.”
“Wall,” says he, “it would take a load offen my mind if you wouldn’t.”
And he added in cheerful and tender tones,—“Shan’t I start up the fire
for you, Samantha, and hang onto the tea-kettle?”
I told him he might, and then I rose up and put my bottle of ink on to
the mantletry piece, and sot the table for supper. And this—generous and
likely reader though I think a sight on you, and would have been glad of
the chance to have told you so in a lawful way—is jest the reason why I
have denied myself that privilege and don’t have no preface to this
book. Further explanations are unnecessary. To the discernin’ mind my
reasons are patented, for such well know that a husband’s wishes to a
fond wife, are almost like takin’ the law to her. And knowin’ this, I
hope and trust you will kindly overlook its loss. You will not call me
shiftless, nor yet slack. You will heed not the dark report that may be
started up that I was short on it for prefaces, or entirely run out of
’em, and couldn’t get holt of one. You will believe not that tale,
knowin’ it false and also untrue. You will regard its absence kindly and
even tenderly, thinkin’ that what is my loss is your gain; thinkin’ that
it is a delicate and self-sacrificin’ token of a wife’s almost wrapped
devotion to a Josiah.
WHAT I HAVE WRIT ABOUT.
PAGE.
WHY I DON’T HAVE NO PREFACE TO THIS BOOK, v
THE JONESVILLE DEBATIN’-SCHOOL, 19
THE WIDDER DOODLE, 54
A DEBATE ON INTEMPERANCE, 73
TIRZAH ANN AS A WIFE, 103
P. A. AND P. I., 121
HOW I WENT TO ’LECTION, 144
SENATOR VYSE AND HIS VICTIM, 161
HOW WE BOUGHT A SEWIN’ MACHINE AND ORGAN, 193
PREPARIN’ FOR OUR TOWER, 211
THE WIDDER AND WIDOWER, 222
HOW SEREPTA CARRIED THE MEETIN’ HOUSE, 231
I AND JOSIAH VISIT PHILANDER SPICER’SES FOLKS, 270
MELANKTON SPICER AND HIS FAMILY, 294
UNCLE DEACON ZEBULON COFFIN, 316
HOW I MARRIED THE DEACON’S DAUGHTER, 353
THE GRAND EXHIBITION, 370
GOOD LAND! GOOD LAND! AND GOOD LAND!, 383
PATRONIZIN’ THE RAILROAD, 386
I ADVISE THE NATION THOUGH ITS GREAT MEN, 400
INTERVIEW WITH GEN. HAWLEY, 406
DOIN’ THE MAIN BUILDIN’, 411
JOSIAH’S RIDE IN A CHAIR, 422
A TRIP THROUGH THE WORLD, 425
IN THE CHINESE DEPARTMENT, 440
I MEET OLD ACQUAINTANCES, 453
WIDDER DOODLE AS A BRIDE, 460
THE ARTEMUS GALLERY, 473
INTERVIEW WITH DOM PEDRO, 490
THE “CREATION SEARCHERS” AT THE SENTINAL, 506
MACHINERY HALL, 507
THE MARQUIS OF LORNE, 513
THE SPIRITUALIST, 522
THE WIMMEN’S PAVILION, 523
THE FEMALE LECTURER, 525
AMONG THE RELICS, 535
AMONG THE WILD BEASTS, 539
THE INDIAN QUESTION, 541
MY SUCCESS AS P. A. AND P. I., 547
THE SENTINAL PROMISCOUS, 550
THE “CREATION SEARCHERS” IN JAIL, 551
THE END OF OUR TOWER, 557
HOME AFFAIRS, 559
THE 14TH DAY OF SEPTEMBER, 561
A BRIDAL TOWER, 563
A GOOD TIME GENERALLY, 570
THE BABY, 576
ALL HAPPY, 580
WHAT THE KIND ARTIST HAS DONE
PAGE
1. AS A P. A. AND P. I. _Frontispiece_
2. ALAS POOR BETSEY 21
3. THE EDITOR OF THE AUGER 24
4. A RIDE ON THE BOBS, (FULL PAGE) 30
5. THE LYCEUM, (FULL PAGE) 35
6. THE YOUNG NEPHEW 37
7. THE ONE GESTURE 39
8. A THRILLIN’ MOMENT 45
9. SUNDAY SLUMBERS 48
10. EDITOR OF THE GIMLET 52
11. PLUCKY, (TAIL PIECE) 53
12. DAVID DOODLE 56
13. WIDDER DOODLE 60
14. “THE VOYAGE OF LIFE” 61
15. LOVE’S DREAM 64
16. PRETTY HANDS AND EYES, (FULL PAGE) 68
17. HELPING CHURN 69
18. THE AFFIRMATIVE 77
19. NOT THE RIGHT KIND OF HORNS, (FULL PAGE) 84
20. THE BLIMMER CAUGHT 93
21. FOUND DEAD, (FULL PAGE) 96
22. THE NERVOUS WOMAN, (FULL PAGE) 111
23. LEFT BEHIND, (FULL PAGE) 118
24. COURTING, (TAIL PIECE) 120
25. TESTING A MAN’S TEMPER, (FULL PAGE) 123
26. THE THIEF AT HOME, (FULL PAGE) 131
27. JOSIAH’S SECRET, (FULL PAGE) 150
28. THE EDITOR’S WIFE 154
29. THE STRANGER 156
30. INTRODUCTION TO THE SENATOR, (FULL PAGE) 163
31. YOUNG WOMANHOOD 168
32. FALLEN 170
33. THE LITTLE INNOCENT 172
34. GRIEF AND REMORSE 173
35. “TOOK TO DRINKIN’” 174
36. ABOUT A FAIR THING 179
37. JOSIAH FINDS HIS SECRET IS KNOWN, (FULL PAGE) 189
38. MATERNAL AFFECTION, (TAIL PIECE) 192
39. AVOIDING A NUISANCE, (FULL PAGE) 199
40. THE SEWIN’ MACHINE AGENTS, (FULL PAGE) 207
41. “IT HAINT ALWAYS BEST TO TELL REASONS.” 212
42. THE WIDDER, (TAIL PIECE) 221
43. “I LOVED THAT WOMAN” 226
44. AN UNSOLVED MYSTERY 235
45. SEREPTA SMITH 237
46. “NEEDS HEADIN’ OFF,” (FULL PAGE) 239
47. MISS HORN 245
48. A VISIT FROM THE CHURCH, (FULL PAGE) 263
49. TOO MANY RUFFLES, (FULL PAGE) 273
50. COVERED, (TAIL PIECE) 293
51. “THAT DOOR WANTS MENDIN’ BAD,” (FULL PAGE) 298
52. “APPARENTLY” STRONG 300
53. AN “APPARENTLY” WELCOME 303
54. “THE HOUSE OF MOURNIN’” 305
55. GENTILITY 307
56. THE PET, (TAIL PIECE) 315
57. CHEATED 319
58. COMPETIN’ WITH THE BAR-ROOM 324
59. DEACON ZEBULON COFFIN 331
60. THE CONDEMNED FIDDLE, (FULL PAGE) 334
61. FOOLIN’ AWAY TIME 337
62. MEETIN’ THE DEACON 343
63. MOLLY CONSOLIN’ TOM PITKINS 347
64. DRESSED FOR THE BALL 350
65. EXTRAVAGANT WIMMEN 351
66. FRUGAL MEN 352
67. THE DEACON’S OLD GAME 355
68. HELPIN’ THE WIDDER 360
69. “I HAINT A MORMON” 367
70. “BUY A GUIDE?” (FULL PAGE) 379
71. SAMANTHA ADDRESSES GEN. GRANT 400
72. INTERVIEW WITH GOV. HAWLEY, (FULL PAGE) 407
73. ONE OF THE SMITHS (FULL PAGE) 418
74. JOSIAH’S FIVE HOURS NAP 422
75. INTRODUCED TO JOHN ROGERS JR. 432
76. THE CHINESE DEPARTMENT, (FULL PAGE) 441
77. JOSIAH IN THE DRESSIN’-ROOM 458
78. POLITENESS TO A STRANGER 461
79. THE PHANTOM 467
80. SAMANTHA IN THE ART GALLERY, (FULL PAGE) 477
81. SAMANTHA MEETS DOM PEDRO 491
82. IN TROUBLE 505
83. JOSIAH ADMIRIN’ THE WATER 539
84. A SHORT ROLL 548
85. THE SENTINAL LICENSED 551
86. BRINGIN’ HER TO 563
87. JUDGE SNOW’S SURPRISE, (FULL PAGE) 573
88. UNDER THE MAPLES 579
[Illustration]
THE JONESVILLE DEBATIN’-SCHOOL.
It was to the Jonesville Debatin’-School, that we first thought on’t. It
was there that Josiah and me made up our 2 minds to go to Filadelfy
village to see the Sentinal. They’ve had Debatin’-schools to Jonesville
this winter, and as I was the only literary woman worth mentionin’, they
made a great pint of havin’ me attend to ’em. I say the only literary
woman,—Betsey Bobbet Slimpsey havin’ to work out so much that she has
entirely left off writin’ poetry. She says she can’t go out washin’, and
cleanin’ house, and makin’ soap, and write poetry at the same time,
worth a cent. They have a awful hard time to git along. They both work
out by the day, and they say that she has had to sell her tow frizzles
and corneleun ring, and lots of her other nice things that she had to
catch her husband with, in order to git along. Howsumever, I don’t
_know_ this; you can hear _anything_, such a lyin’ time, now-a-days—as I
told Josiah, the other day. He says to me, says he:
“I won’t believe _anything_, Samantha, till I see it with my own eyes.”
And says I,—“_I_ wont believe anything, Josiah Allen, till I have got
holt of it.” Says I, “mists and black arts are liable to be cast before
your eyes; but if you lay holt of anything with your two hands, you are
pretty certain it is there.”
Never havin’ laid holt of her tow curls and other ornaments, as they was
bein’ sold, I don’t tell it for certain truth, but only what I have
hearn; but that they have a dretful hard time on’t to git along, _that_
I _know_.
Besides poverty, the horrors lay holt of Slimpsey the worst kind. They
shake him as a dog shakes a chipmunk. When he lived with his first wife
he didn’t have ’em more’n a few times a month, or so; but _now_ he has
’em every day, stiddy, right along. He yells at Betsey; goes to bed with
his boots on; throws his hat at her, hollers, and keeps a actin’. He
drinks, too, when he can git anything to drink. He says he drinks to
forget his trouble; but what a simple move that is, for when he gits
over it, there his trouble is, right before his eyes. There Betsey
stands. Trouble is as black and troublesome again looked at through the
glass, and topers find that it is; for they have the old trouble, all
the same, besides shame and disgrace, and bodily ruination.
[Illustration: ALAS! POOR BETSEY.]
Considerin’ what a dretful hard time Betsey has, it would seem to a
bystander to calmly think on’t, that she didn’t git much of any comfort
from her marriage, except the dignity she told me of the other night,
with her own tongue as she was goin’ home from washin’, at Miss
Gowdey’s. (Miss Gowdey had a felon and was disabled.) She had on a old
hood, and one of her husband’s old coats with brass buttons—for it was a
rainin’ and she didn’t care for looks. She was all drabbled up, and
looked tired enough to sink. She had a piece of pork to pay her for her
washin’, and a piller-case about half full of the second sort of flour a
carryin’ along, that Miss Gowdey had give her; and as I happened to be a
standin’ in the front door a lookin’ for my companion, Josiah,—who had
gone to Jonesville to mill—we got to talkin’ about one thing and
another, and she up and told me that she wouldn’t part with the dignity
she got by marryin’, for 25 cents, much as she needed money. Though she
said it was a worse trial than anybody had any idee of, for her to give
up writin’ poetry.
So, as I was a sayin’, bein’ the only literary woman of any account in
Jonesville, they made a great handlin’ of havin’ me present at their
meetin’s, or at least, some of ’em did. Though as I will state and
explain, the great question of my takin’ part in ’em, rent Jonesville
almost to its very twain. Some folks hate to see a woman set up high and
honored; they hate to, like a dog. It was gallin’ to some men’s pride,
to see themselves passed by, and a female woman invited to take a part
in the great “Creation Searchin’ Society,” or “Jonesville Lyceum.” I
sometimes call it Debatin’-school, jest as I used to; but the childern
have labored with me; they call it Lyceum, and so does Maggy Snow, and
our son-in-law, Whitfield Minkley; (he and Tirzah Ann are married, and
it is very agreeable to me and to Josiah, and to Brother and Sister
Minkley; very!) Tirzah Ann told me it worked her up, to see me so
old-fashioned as to call it Debatin’-school.
But says I calmly,—“Work up or not, I shall call it so when I forget the
other name.”
And Thomas Jefferson labored with me, and jest as his way is, he went
down into the reason and philosophy of things, knowin’ well what a case
his mother is for divin’ deep into reason and first causes. That boy is
dretful deep; he is comin’ up awful well. He is a ornament to
Jonesville, as Lawyer Snow—Maggy’s father—told me, last fall. (That
haint come off yet; but we are perfectly willin’ and agreeable on both
sides, and it will probable take place before long. Thomas J. fairly
worships the ground she walks on, and so she does hisen.)
Says Thomas J. to me, says he, “I haint a word to say ag’inst your
callin’ it Debatin’-school, only I know you are so kinder scientific and
philosophical, that I hate to see you usin’ a word that haint got
science to back it up. Now this word Lyceum,” says he, “is derived from
the dead languages, and from them that is most dead. It is from the
Greek and Injun; a kind of a half-breed. Ly, is from the Greek, and
signifies and means a big story, or, in other words, a falsehood; and
ce-um is from the Injun; and it all means, ‘see ’em lie.’”
That boy is dretful deep; admired as he is by everybody, there is but
few indeed that realize what a mind he has got. He convinced me right on
the spot, and I make a practice of callin’ it so, every time I think of
it. But as I told Tirzah Ann—work up or not, if they was mortified black
as a coal, both of ’em, when I forgot that name I should call it by the
old one.
[Illustration: THE EDITOR OF THE AUGER.]
There has been a awful thorough study into things to the
Debatin’-school, or Lyceum. It has almost skairt me sometimes, to see
’em go so deep into hard subjects. It has seemed almost like temptin’
Providence, to know so much, and talk so wise and smart as some of ’em
have.
I was in favor of their havin’ ’em, from the very first on’t, and said
openly, that I laid out to attend ’em; but I thought my soul, I should
have to stay to home, the very first one. It commenced on a Tuesday
night, and I had got my mind all worked up about goin’ to it; and I told
the Widder Doodle, (Josiah’s brother’s wife, that is livin’ with us at
present,) I told her in the afternoon, it would be a dretful blow to me
if anything should happen to keep me to home; and I got a early
breakfast, a purpose to get a early dinner, so’s to have a early supper,
so’s to be ready to go, you know, sunthin’ as the poem runs:—“The fire
begun to burn the stick, the stick begun to lick the kid, and the kid
begun to go.”
Wall, before supper, I went up into the Widder Doodle’ses room to git my
soap-stone, to put on the tank to have it a warmin’ for the ride; (I let
the Widder have the soap-stone, nights, she havin’ no other companion,
and bein’ lonesome, and troubled with cold feet. I do well by the
Widder.) As I come down with it, all boyed up in my mind about what a
edifyin’ and instructive time I was a goin’ to have, the Widder spoke up
and says she:
“Josiah has jest been in, and he don’t know as he shall go to
Jonesville, after all; he says the Editor of the Auger is sick.” He was
to make the openin’ speech.
“What ails the Editor?” says I.
Says she,—“He has got the Zebra Spinner Magnetics.”
“Good land!” says I, “he wont never get over it, will he? I shouldn’t
never expect to get well if _I_ had that distemper, and I don’t know as
I should want to. It must leave the system in a awful state.”
“Yes,” says Josiah, who had come in with an armful of wood, “the Editor
is bad off; but Sister Doodle haint got it jest right; it is the Zebra
Smilin’ Marcellus that has got a holt of him. Solomon Cypher told me
about it when he went by on his saw log.”
“Wall,” says I coolly, “a few words, more or less, haint a goin’ to make
or break a distemper. You both seem to be agreed and sot onto the Zebra,
so s’posen we call it the Zebra, for short. Do you know whether he
catched the Zebra, or whether it come onto him spontaneous, as it were?
Anyway, I don’t believe he will ever git over it.”
And I sithed as I thought of the twins; he has had a sight of twins
sense he married this woman; I never see such a case for twins, as the
Editor is. And I sithed as I thought of every span of ’em; and the ma,
and step-ma of ’em. I kep’ a sithin’, and says I:
“This distemper is a perfect stranger to me, Josiah Allen. Where does
the Zebra take holt of anybody?”
Says he,—“The disease is in the backside of his neck, and the posterity
part of his brain.”
And then I felt better. I felt well about the Editor of the Augers’es
wife, and the twins. Says I in a cheerful voice:
“If the disease is in his brain, Josiah, I know he will have it light. I
know they can quell it down easy.”
I knew well that there could be a large, a _very large_ and interestin’
book made out of what the Editor didn’t know. The minute he told me the
Zebra was in his brain, I knew its stay there would be short, for it
wouldn’t find anything to support itself on, for any length of time. I
felt well; my heart felt several pounds lighter than it had; for
lightness of heart never seems so light, as it does after anybody has
been carryin’ a little jag of trouble. It takes the little streaks of
shadow to set off the sunshine. Life is considerable like a rag carpet,
if you only look on it with the eye of a weaver. It is made up of dark
stripes and light stripes, and sometimes a considerable number of
threads of hit or miss; and the dark stripes set off the light ones, and
make ’em look first rate. But I am allegorin’.
As I said, I felt relieved and cheerful, and I got supper on the table
in a few minutes—the tea-kettle was all biled. After supper, I said to
Josiah in cheerful axents:
“I guess we had better go to Jonesville, anyway, for my mind seems to be
sot onto that Debatin’-school, and I don’t believe the Editor’s havin’
the Zebra will break it down at all; and I want to go to Tirzah Ann’s a
few minutes; and we are about out of tea—there haint enough for another
drawin’.”
Josiah said it wasn’t best to take the old mare out again that night,
and he didn’t believe there would be a Debatin’-school, now the Editor
had got the Zebra; he thought that would flat it all out.
I didn’t argue on that; I didn’t stand on the Zebra, knowin’ well, I had
a keener arrer in my bow. I merely threw in this remark, in a awful dry
tone:
“Very well, Josiah Allen; I can git along on sage tea, if you can; or, I
can make crust coffee for breakfast.”
I calmly kep’ a braidin’ up my back hair, previous to doin’ it up in a
wad, for I knew what the end thereof would be. My companion, Josiah, is
powerfully attached to his tea, and he sot for a number of minutes in
perfect silence, meditatin’—I knew by the looks of his face—on sage tea.
I kep’ perfectly still and let him meditate, and wouldn’t have
interrupted him for the world, for I knew that sage tea, and crust
coffee, taken internally of the mind, (as it were,) was what was good
for him jest then. And so it proved, for in about three minutes and a
half, he spoke out in tones as sharp as a meat axe; some like a simetar:
“Wall! do git _ready_ if you are a goin’. I never did see such cases to
be on the _go_ all the time, as wimmen be. But I shall go with the Bobs,
jest as I come from the woods; I haint a goin’ to fuss to git out the
sleigh to-night.”
He acted cross, and worrysome, but I answered him calmly, and my mean
looked first rate as I said it:
“There is a great literary treat in front of me, to-night, Josiah Allen,
and a few Bobs, more or less, haint a goin’ to overthrow my comfort, or
my principles. No!” says I stoppin’ at my bed-room door, and wavin’ my
right hand in a real eloquent wave; “no! no! Josiah Allen; the seekin’
mind, bent on improvin’ itself; and the earnest soul a plottin’ after
the good of the race, Bobs has no power over. Such minds cannot be
turned round in their glorious career by Bobs.”
[Illustration: A RIDE ON THE BOBS.]
“Wall! wall!” he snapped out again, “do git ready. I believe wimmen
would stop to talk and visit on their way to the stake.”
I didn’t say nothin’ back, but with a calm face I went into the bed-room
and put on my brown alpaca dress; for I thought seein’ I had my way, I’d
let him have his say, knowin’ by experience, that the last word would be
dretful sort o’ comfortin’ to him. I had a soap-stone and plenty of
Buffaloes, and I didn’t care if we did go on the Bobs, (or Roberts, I
s’pose would be more polite to call ’em.) There was a good floor to ’em,
and so we sot off, and I didn’t care a mite if I did feel strange and
curious, and a good deal in the circus line; as if I was some
first-class curiosity that my companion, Josiah, had discovered in a
foreign land, and was carryin’ round his native streets for a side-show.
When we got to Jonesville, we found they was a goin’ to start the
Debatin’-school, jest the same as if the Editor hadn’t got the Zebra. We
went into Tirzah Ann’s a few minutes, and she give us a piece of fresh
beef—Whitfield had jest bought a quarter—Josiah hadn’t killed yet. Beef
is Josiah’s favorite refreshment, and I told him we would have it for
dinner the next day. Josiah begun to look clever; and he asked me in
affectionate and almost tender axents, if apple dumplin’s didn’t go
first rate with roast beef and vegetables. I told him yes, and I would
make some for dinner, if nothin’ happened. Josiah felt well; his
worrysome feelin’s all departed from him. The storekeeper had jest
opened an uncommon nice chest of tea, too. I never see a man act and
look cleverer than my pardner did; he was ready to go anywhere, at any
time.
We got to the school-house where it was held, in good season, and got a
good seat, and I loosened my bunnet strings and went to knittin’. But,
as I said, they was determined (some on ’em) that I should hold up one
of the sides of the arguments; but of course, as could be expected in
such a interestin’ and momentous affair, in which Jonesville and the
world at large was so deeply interested, there was them that it galled,
to see a woman git up so high in the world. There was them that said it
would have a tendency to onsettle and break up the hull fabric of
society for a woman to take part in such hefty matters as would be
argued here. Some said it was a revolutionary idee, and not to be
endured for half a moment of time; and they brought up arguments from
the Auger—wrote by its Editor—to prove out that wimmen ortn’t to have no
such privileges and honors. They said, as sick as the Editor was now, it
would kill him if he should hear that the “Creation Searchin’
Society”—that he had labored so for—had demeaned itself by lettin’ a
woman take part in it. They said as friends of the Editor, _they_
wouldn’t answer for the shock on his nervous and other system. Neither
would they answer for the consequences to Jonesville and the world—the
direful consequences, sure to flow from liftin’ a female woman so far
above her spear.
Their talk was scareful, very, and some was fearfully affected by it;
but others was jest as rampant on the other side; they got up and defied
’em. They boldly brought forward my noble doin’s on my tower; how I had
stood face to face with that heaven-honored man of peace, Horace
Greely—heaven-honored and heaven-blest now—how he had confided in me;
how my spectacles had calmly gazed into hisen, as we argued in deep
debate concernin’ the welfare of the nation, and wimmen. How I had
preserved Grant from perishin’ by poetry; how I had labored with Victory
and argued with Theodore. They said such doin’s had rose me up above
other wimmen; had lifted me so far up above her common spear, as to make
me worthy of any honors the nation could heap onto me; made me worthy
even to take a part in the “Jonesville Creation Searchin’ and World
Investigatin’ Society.”
I let ’em fight it out, and didn’t say a word. They fit, and they fit;
and I sot calmly there on my seat a knittin’ my Josiah’s socks, and let
’em go on. I knew where I stood in my own mind; I knew I shouldn’t git
up and talk a word after they got through fightin’. Not that I think it
is out of character for a woman to talk in public; nay, verily. It is,
in my opinion, no more wearin’ on her throat, or her morals, to git up
and talk to a audience for their amusement and edification, in a calm
and collected voice, than it is for her to key up her voice and sing to
’em by the hour, for the same reason. But everybody has their particular
fort, and they ort in my opinion to stick to their own forts and not try
to git on to somebody else’es.
Now, influencin’ men’s souls, and keepin’ their morals healthy by words
of eloquence, is some men’s forts. Nailin’ on good leather soles to keep
their body’s healthy, is another man’s fort. One is jest as honorable
and worthy as the other, in my opinion, if done in the fear of God and
for the good of mankind, and follerd as a fort ort to be follerd. But
when folks leave their own lawful forts and try to git on to somebody
else’es fort, that is what makes trouble, and makes crowded forts and
weak ones, and mixes things. Too many a gettin’ on to a fort at one
time, is what breaks it down. My fort haint talkin’ in public, and I
foller it up from day to day, as a fort ort to be follerd. So I was jest
as cool as a cewcumber, outside and inside, and jest as lives see ’em go
on makin’ consummit idiots of themselves as not, and ruther.
[Illustration: THE LYCEUM.]
[Illustration: THE YOUNG NEPHEW.]
It was enough to make a dog snicker and laugh (if he hadn’t deep
principle to hold him back, as I had,) to see ’em go on. The President
Cornelius Cork, and Solomon Cypher talked the most. They are both
eloquent and almost finished speakers; but Solomon Cypher havin’ had
better advantages than the President, of course goes ahead of him as an
oriter. A nephew of hisen, P. Cypher Bumpus, old Philander Bumpus’es
only boy, (named after his father, and uncle Cypher,) has been there to
his uncle’s givin’ him lessons all winter, in elocution and dramatic
effects. Solomon has give him his board for tutorin’ him.
I s’pose P. Cypher Bumpus can’t be beat on elocution; he’s studied hard,
and took lessons of some big elocutionists, and they say he can holler
up as loud, and look as wild as the biggest of ’em, and dwindle his
voice down as low, and make as curious motions as the curiousest of ’em.
Besides, he has took up lots in his own head. He is very smart,
naturally, and has stood by his uncle Solomon all winter, like a Major.
And considerin’ Solomon’s age, and his natural mind—which haint none of
the best—and his lameness, I never see a man make such headway as
Solomon Cypher has. He can make eloquent and impressive gestures, very.
Cornelius Cork, the President, they say has been a tryin to learn
himself; has tried to take gestures and motions up in his own head; but
bein’ a poor man and not bein’ able to hire a teacher, of course he
don’t make much headway; don’t git along nigh so well. He haint got but
one gesture broke in so he can handle it to any advantage, and that is:
pointin’ his forefinger at the audience, with the rest of his hand shet
up; dartin’ it out sometimes, as if it was a bayonet he was goin’ to run
through their hearts; and sometimes holdin’ it back, and takin’ a more
distant and deliberate aim with it, as if it was a popgun he kep’ by him
to shoot down congregations with. That is all he has got at present; but
truly, he does the best he can, with what he has to do with. It don’t
scare the audience so much I s’pose as he thinks it ort to, and he
probable gits discouraged; but he ort to consider that he can’t show off
much in gestures, while Solomon Cypher is livin’. A kerosine lamp can’t
show off to any advantage when the sun gits up. But the President done
well as I said, with what he had to do with. He pinted that forefinger
almost threatningly in every direction, from Zenith to Nathan, as he
went on to say: he hadn’t no personal objections to Josiah Allen’s wife,
“_fur frummit_.”
[Illustration: THE ONE GESTURE.]
Cornelius Cork bein’ a poor man, and shackled with the support of four
maiden sisters of his own, and a mother-in-law and a grandmother-in-law
of his wife’s, besides a large family of childern of their own, haint
never felt able to own a dictionary, and so he pronounces by ear, and
makes mistakes. But considerin’ his circumstances and shackles, I don’t
think he ort to be run down for it. It makes it very bad, sometimes, for
Solomon Cypher, for he bein’ so took up with gestures and motions, and
bein’ one easy led astray by them that are in high office, he follers on
blindly after the President and uses lots of words he wouldn’t dremp of
usin’, if he hadn’t heerd the President use ’em. It makes it bad for
Solomon, very.
The President repeated the words again, with dignity and emphasis: “_fur
frummit_.” He trusted he realized too well whose tower it was, that
bein’ gone off on, had lifted Jonesville fur up above surroundin’
nations; had lifted it high up on fame’s towerin’ pillow, and shed a
lurid light on the housen thereof. He trusted he was too familiar with
that noble book of hern, of which he had read the biggest heft, and was
calculatin’ to tackle the rest of it if he lived long enough. And he had
said, and he said still, that such a book as that, was liable to live
and go down to Posterity, if Posterity didn’t git shiftless and hang off
too long. And if anybody said it wasn’t liable to, he called ’em
“traitor, to the face; traitor to Jonesville; traitor to Josiah Allen’s
wife; traitor to Josiah.”
His face got red as blood, and he sweat considerable, he talked so hard,
and got so excited, and pointed that forefinger so powerful and frequent
at the audience, as if he was—in spirit—shootin’ ’em down like wild
turkeys.
Jest as quick as he collected breath enough, he went on to say that
though nobody could go ahead of him in honorin’ that esteemable woman,
still he sot principle up in his mind above any other female; higher
even than Josiah Allen’s wife. It was solid principle he was upholdin’;
the principle of the male sex not bein’ infringed upon; that was his
stand. Says he, “For a female woman to talk in public on such momentous
and weighty subjects—subjects that weigh I don’t know what they wont
weigh but this I know: every one will be hefty;—for a female woman to
talk on those deep and perhaps awful subjects as they are a bein’ brung
up, would have a dangerous tendency to make a woman feel as if she was
equal to man. It would have a tendency to infringe on him; and if there
is anything a man can’t, nor wont stand, it is infringin’. And it would
also bring her into too close contract with him; and so, on them
grounds, as a Latin author observes in a similar case: ‘I deny her the
right _in tato toto_.’”
That was Latin, and I s’pose he thought it would scare me, but it didn’t
a mite; for I don’t s’pose he knew what it meant no more’n I did. I
bound off my heel with composure. But the excitement was fearful; no
sooner would them on one side make a motion, than them on the other side
would git up and make a different motion. You know when sheep go to
jumpin’ over the fence, if one goes, they all want to go. There was the
awfulest sight of motions made, I ever see; everybody was jumpin’ up and
makin’ ’em. Why, one spell, I had to lay holt of Josiah Allen and hold
him down by main strength, or he’d been up a makin’ ’em; he wanted to,
and tried to, but I laid holt of him and argued to him. Says I:
“Let ’em fight it out; don’t you make a single motion, Josiah Allen.”
And Josiah, feelin’ clever, consented not to, and sot still, and I went
to knittin’ again. But it was a scene of almost fearful confusion, and
excitement. No sooner had the President sot down, sayin’ he denied me
the right “_in tato toto_,” than Simon Slimpsey got up (with difficulty)
and says he, in a almost thick tone:
“I think taint best to give her the potato.”
He had been a drinkin’ and didn’t know what he was sayin’. He sot down
again right off—had to—for he couldn’t stand up. But as he kinder fell
back on his seat, he kep’ a mutterin’ that “she didn’t ort to have the
potato give her; she didn’t know enough to plant the tater, or hoe
it—she hadn’t ort to have it.”
Nobody minded him. But Solomon Cypher jumped up, and says he, smitin’
his breast with his right hand:
“I motion she haint no right to talk.” And again he smote his breast
almost severely.
“I motion you tell on what grounds you make the motion!” says the Editor
of the Gimlet, jumpin’ up and throwin’ his head back nobly.
“I motion you set down again,” says the President,—takin’ aim at him as
if he was a mushrat—“I motion you set down and give him a chance to git
up and tell why he made the motion.”
So the Editor of the Gimlet sot down, and Solomon Cypher riz up:
“I stand on this ground,” (says he, stampin’ down his right foot,) “and
on this ground I make my motion:” (says he, stampin’ down his left one,
and smitin’ himself a almost dangerous blow in the breast,) “that this
society haint no place for wimmen. Her mind haint fit for it; ‘_fur
frummit_,’ as my honored friend, the President observes,—‘_fur
frummit_.’ There is deep subjects a goin’ to be brung up here, that is
all _my_ mind can do, to rastle with and throw ’em; and for a female
woman’s mind to tackle ’em, it would be like settin’ a pismire to move a
meetin’ house. Wimmen’s minds is weak.”
Here he smote himself a fearful blow right in the pit of his stomach,
and repeated the words slowly and impressively:
“Wimmen’s minds is weak. But this haint the main reason why I make my
motion. My main reason is, that I object, and I always will—while I have
got a breath left in my body—object to the two sexes a comin’—as my
honored friend the President says—‘in such close contract with each
other, as they would have to if wimmen took any part with men in such
public affairs.’ Keep separate from each other! that is my ground, and
that is my motion. Keep wimmen off as fur as you can, if you would be
safe and happy. Men has their place,” says he,—stridin’ forred a long
step with his right foot, and stretchin’ up his right arm nobly towards
the sky as fur as he could with safety to his armpit—“and wimmen has
hern!”—steppin’ back a long step with his left foot, and pintin’ down
with his left hand, down through a hole in the floor, into the
cellar—“and it is necessary for the public safety,” says he,—a smitin’
his breast, first with his right hand and then with his left—“that he
keep hisen, and she hern. As the nation and individuals are a goin’ on
now, everything is safe.” (Here he stopped and smiled.) “The nation is
safe.” (Another smile.) “And men and wimmen are safe, for they don’t
come in contract with each other.” (Here he stopped and smiled three
times.) “But if wimmen are ever permitted in the future to take any part
in public affairs; if they are ever permitted to come in contract with
man, and bring thereby ruin, deep, deadly ruin onto Jonesville and the
world, I want Jonesville and the world to remember that I have cleared
_my_ coat-skirts in the matter. I lift ’em out of the fearful and
hazardous enterprise.”
He had an old-fashioned dress coat on, with long skirts, that come most
to the floor, and as he said this, he lifted ’em up with a almost
commandin’ air, as if he was a liftin’ ’em out of black mud. He lifted
’em right up, and they stood out in front of his arms, some like wings;
and, as he stood lookin’ round the audience, in this commandin’ and
imposin’ position, he repeated the words in a more lofty and majestic
tone:
[Illustration: A THRILLIN’ MOMENT.]
“I clear _my_ coat-skirts of the hull matter. You _see_ me clear ’em.
None of the bloody ruin can be laid onto _my_ coat-skirts.”
It was a thrillin’ moment. It had a terribly depressin’ effect on a
great many lovers of justice and wimmen’s votin’, who was present. They
see the dangers hedgin’ in the enterprise, as they never see ’em before.
They see the power of the foe they was fightin’ ag’inst, and trembled
and quailed before him. But though I realized well what was a goin’ on
before me, though I knew what a deadly blow he was a givin’ to the
cause, I held firm, and kep’ a cool mean, and never thought for half a
moment of givin’ up my shield. And then I knew it wasn’t so much his
words—although they was witherin’—as his lofty majesty of bearin’, that
influenced the almost breathless audience. He stood in that commandin’
posture, I have described, for I should judge, nearly one moment and a
half, and then he repeated the words:
“For I say unto you,”—and here he dropped his coat-skirts suddenly, and
struck himself in the breast a sudden and violent blow with his
thumb,—the fingers all standin’ out straight, like the bones of a
fan—“for I say unto you; and if these are the last words you shall ever
hear from my humble but perfectly honorable mouth,—remember, Jonesville
and the world, that I died a sayin’, beware of the female pole.”
I never in my hull life heerd a pole sound so faint and sickly as that
pole did. It dwindled away almost to nothin’, and he kinder shet his
eyes up and sallied away, as if he was a goin to die off himself. It
skairt some of the wimmen most to death, it was so impressive; but I
knew it was all the effect of high trainin’; I knew he would come to in
a minute, and he did. Pretty soon he kinder repeated the words, in a
sickly tone:
“Remember, I died a sayin’: beware of the female pole. Beware! beware!!”
And oh, how skairt them wimmen was again; for he straightened right up
and yelled out them two bewares, like a couple of claps of thunder; and
his eyes kep’ a growin’ bigger and bigger, and his voice grew louder and
louder, till it seemed as if it would raise the very ruff—though it had
jest been new shingled, (cost the deestrick 20 dollars,)—and he looked
round the audience as wise as any owl I ever laid eyes on, and struck
himself a very fearful blow with his thumb, right on his stomach, and
says he:
“Beware of bein’ infringed upon!”—and then followed another almost
dangerous blow—“Beware of that terrible and fearful day, when men and
wimmen shall come in contract with each other.”
He stopped perfectly still, looked all round the house with that wise
and almost owl-like look on him, and then in a slow, impressive, and
eloquent manner, he raised his hands and struck his breast bone with
both thumbs and sot down. Some of the speakers seemed to be real envious
of his gestures, but they ort to have considered that it was all in
knowin’ how; it was all in practice. He’d probably studied on every
motion for days and days, and they hadn’t ort to have begreched ’em so
to him. But if he hadn’t never studied on elocution and impressive
gesturin’; if he hadn’t looked a mite like an owl for solemnity and
wisdom, his talk would have been dretful impressive and scareful to
some, he painted it all out in such high colors, what a terrible and
awful thing it would be for the two sects to ever come in “contract with
each other.” I s’pose he meant contact,—I haint a doubt of it.
[Illustration: SUNDAY SLUMBERS.]
Why, to have heerd him go on, if there had been a delegate present to
the “Creation Searchin’ Society,” from the moon—or any other world
adjacent to Jonesville—he wouldn’t have had any idee that men and wimmen
had ever got any nearer to each other than from half to three-quarters
of a mile. I s’pose I never could have made that foreigner believe, if I
had talked myself blind, that, for all Solomon Cypher showed such deadly
fear of men comin’ in “contract” with wimmen, he had lived with one
forty years; drinked out of the same dipper; slept together Sundays in
the same pew of the same meetin’ house; and brought up a big family of
childern together, which belonged to both on ’em.
Howsumever, them was the facts of the case; but I let him go on, for
principle held me down, and made me want to know how it would end;
whether freedom, and the principles of our 4 fathers would triumph, or
whether they would be quirled up like caterpillers, and be trod on.
I knew in my mind I shouldn’t git up and talk, not if they voted me in
ten times over, for reasons that I give more formally; and besides them
reasons, I was lame, and had ruther set and knit, for Josiah needed his
socks; and I have always said, and I say still, that a woman ort to make
her family comfortable, before she tackles the nation, or the heathen,
or anything.
So they kep’ on a fightin’, and I kep’ on a knittin’; and upheld by
principle, I never let on but what I was dyin’ to git up and talk. They
got awful worked up on it; they got as mad as hens, every one on ’em,
all but Josiah. He sot by me as happy as you please, a holdin’ my ball
of yarn. He acted cleverer than he had in some time; he was awful clever
and happy; and so was I; we felt well in our 2 minds, as we sot there
side by side, while the fearful waves of confusion and excitement, and
Cornelius Cork and Solomon Cypher, was a tostin’ to and fro about us.